Page 10 of Infidelity Rules

Wise decision Georgie, I think. Wise decision.

.....

With the little problem of dinner for George resolved, I decide it’s time to pour some wine. I go to fill George’s glass, but he stops me immediately and requests plain water instead.

Oh goodie, this just keeps getting better. He’s a teetotaling vegetarian.

I’m waiting for his specifics on the water — filtered, no fluoride, between 50 and 72 degrees for optimal hydration, chipped from an organic glacier, melted at the hands of a vegan virgin ...

But George just smiles at me and accepts a glass straight from the fridge.

Okay, maybe there is some hope for the evening. I’m certainly not going to date this man, but perhaps we can at least have a pleasant time.

I’m making my way through a rather generous second glass of wine and a second helping of meatballs when I notice George eyeing my wine.

“You sure you don’t want a glass?” I ask him, taking a sip. “I can open a white or a different wine if you prefer.”

“No, but thank you,” says George-the-pharmacist. “You do realize that your liver can only metabolize one drink an hour, don’t you?

So right now, alcohol has saturated your blood and body tissues.

Pretty soon, your body will have to store the excess as fat.

Even your liver can get fat from too much alcohol,” he says matter-of-factly.

Seriously ?

The table gets quiet, except for Alex, who is sputtering and trying not to choke on his own mouthful of wine.

I peer at George over the rim of my wineglass as I take yet another sip.

“Do you know what I do for a living George?”

“Um, no, I don’t. Your dad never said and, well, um,” he starts to trail off. “Perhaps a model?” he says desperately. “Or, um, an artist or something?”

Again. Seriously?

Now I’m giggling. This poor guy had no clue what he walked into when he agreed to come to dinner tonight.

“George,” I say, as I meticulously wind linguine around my fork. “I’m in the wine business. I’m a sommelier.”

.....

Dinner wraps up rather quickly after that, much to everyone’s relief. Thankfully, George has an early shift at the pharmacy tomorrow so he has an easy out. He may not be socially adept, but he’s not an idiot and clearly read the signs — not a match.

Whew.

As soon as George leaves I turn to my father, Sam. “Really Dad?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, throwing his hands up. “He seemed nice enough, and he has a good job. But I won’t meddle again.”

“I don’t buy that, but at least please check with me first, okay?”

“Done,” says my father. “You have to admit though, he certainly made the evening interesting.”

The four of us settle into clean-up mode and then I convince Alex to join me for a walk. It’s a beautiful spring evening and my parents live along the Baltimore waterfront, so there’s a lovely path to follow just steps from their condo building.

“So what’s up, big sis?” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Usually you’d be stretched out on the couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream, not begging to go for a walk.”

“Funny,” I say as we stroll by several sailboats slowly rocking in the breeze. I stop to watch a mama duck and her five tiny ducklings swim in a tight little row of feathers and new baby duck fuzz.

“But you’re right,” I sigh. “I met a man. In fact, I met TWO men. And I kissed them both on the same day! I’m a mess.”

Alex, who is very much like Julian, remains quiet and simply nods, waiting for me to continue. Sometimes I think he employs his journalism technique with me, which is to shut up and let his sources fill the quiet space.

“One is married,” I continue. “One is not.”

“Seems to me it’s an easy choice then, given your preferences. Unless something has changed?” he asks, looking directly at me.

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I dig the married one, Zack. He’s easy and funny and cute and he lives in Baltimore, so it’s ideal.”

“But?” says Alex.

“But I’m nuts about the single one, Marcus. Totally bonkers about him. I know I barely know him, but we have this wild chemistry. Something I haven’t felt in years. If ever,” I say with a sigh.

We stroll in silence for a few minutes.

“I should just go for Zack. He’s married. It’s easy. There’s no pressure. And I know we’ll have a good time.”

My brain is a jumble of thoughts — Zack feeding me waffles, Marcus pulling me in close for a kiss, Zack grinning about the bumbling Tim, Marcus stroking my hair, Marcus writing that note, Marcus and his Tahoe-blue eyes. Marcus. Marcus. Marcus.

I shake my head to clear it, barely noticing Alex leading me to a bench with a water view.

“Zack,” I say firmly. “It has to be Zack. Except I cannot stop thinking about Marcus. Ack! I feel like a lunatic.”

“No arguments here,” says my brother. And then, quietly, “It’s been too long Quinn. Maybe it’s time.”

“Time for what?” I ask, knowing full well what he’s talking about. It’s been three years since my marriage to Chris crumbled. And longer still since Liam looked me in the eyes and dispassionately told me it was over, discarding me as easily as rotten fruit.

“Come on Quinn,” he says, pulling me down to the bench. “You’ve changed a lot since your divorce. Maybe it’s time to at least consider real dating again.”

I put my head on Alex’s shoulder and watch another duck family, this time out of water and waddling along the path.

“I don’t want to make another mistake,” I say. “I thought Liam loved me. And Chris, well, I still sometimes wake up at night feeling suffocated and trapped, thinking we’re still married. I don’t trust myself to pick right.”

“I don’t think you’ll make either mistake again,” he says. “Look, I know you didn’t get to marry the love of your life. That Chris wasn’t Liam. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get to someday. You’ll never know until you get back out there. For real.”

“Look who’s talking,” I say, trying to wriggle out of the conversation. The whole idea of dating single men again makes my skin crawl and I physically shudder. “You rarely date,” I point out.

“I’m married to the Baltimore Independent ,” he says, referring to the local newspaper where he works as a reporter.

“I date, but apparently women don’t like to play second fiddle to work,” he says, shrugging.

“And I date single women, so there’s always the underlying hope that I’ll find someone who understands. ”

I sigh. “I know. I just don’t think I even want the possibility of something that might stick. Married men are safe. They’re not going to leave their wives and nobody is going to fall in love. I haven’t seriously considered real dating for a long time. I’m rattled, Alex.”

“I can see that. Look, it’s weird, but you’ve been happy these last few years playing mistress. It surprised me at first, but it does seem to work for you. At least it did. I guess the real question is, how long can you play this game? Are you thinking forever?”

“I don’t know. I guess I have a lot to think about.”

He nods. “And it’s not about either one of these guys, remember that. This is about you and what you want in five years or ten or 20 for that matter.”

Oh how I loathe thinking too far ahead. But he’s right. I know he’s right. But I don’t think I can survive another Liam. And I certainly cannot hurt somebody again the way I hurt Chris. Married men are just so much easier.

“Quick,” says Alex, launching into a favorite childhood game of ours. “If you were on a desert island and could only take one of these dudes and one type of food, who and what would it be?”

I laugh. “Marcus. No question,” I say, rapid fire back. “But just one food item? Come on now … gimme two — a jar of Maranatha peanut butter and a wedge of stinky, funky blue cheese. Now you,” I say, happy to be off topic.

“You, of course,” says Alex, smiling and putting his arm around my shoulder. “Until I find myself a keeper. And if you’re already bringing blue cheese and peanut butter, then I’m in for booze and salami.”